


The North Rememebers

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Characters will be added as they appear - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-19 05:57:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7347898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya relearns who she is and Sansa rules the North.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nym

**Author's Note:**

> Everything is a work in progress. Tags, characters, etc. will be added as they appear.

A woman was tossing in her sleep; she dreamt of wolves again tonight. When she wakes, a woman will deny ever having had dreamt at all. "I am nobody" she would say to the kindly man "I do not dream" She would deny the sense of familiarity of her dreams. She'd ignore the memories that hint of a time _before_ because she is nobody now, and nobody has no need of their past. But, tonight, her dream led to something else. She was chasing something different, something whose scent brings about thoughts of lemon cakes and needlework. She made her way down a familiar path into a clearing, creeping slowly towards the figure hunched before a great white tree. The figure didn't notice her, too busy muttering prayers to the tree, so she nudged them with her nose. The figure flinched and their face whipped towards her. Tired blue eyes met dark gold ones and the wolf- no, a woman- felt as though she'd seen these eyes before. A pregnant silence fell upon the two. Then the figure - _Sansa_ \- opened her mouth.

 

"Nymeria?"

 

And a woman woke with a gasp, the memory of her dream still fresh in her mind. She sat up and reminded herself that the dreams meant nothing; she didn't know the woman with sad blue eyes and fiery red hair. She had no need for the name Sansa or Nymeria; the only names that mattered the ones of those who will receive the gift, so she put on a blank face and continued on her duties. Yet in the back of her mind, someone was clawing her way out, screaming out a name she couldn't recall.

 

-

 

"Who are you?" asked the kindly man.

"I am nobody" replied a woman.

"You lie"

A woman hid her shock from her face. She had been years since she was last told this. She had allowed the Many-Faced God to take away her girlhood, her name, her face; everything she had been she had given away freely. How could she lie about her identity, if there was nothing left of her to lie about? The kindly man saw through her facade, and, with a knowing gaze, he took something out of his cloak. In his hands he held out a short, thin blade, akin to the ones used for water dancing.

"You know what this is" he said.

And she did. She knew the blade was castle forged. She knew it has a name, _every great blade has a name_. She knew that it was _hers_.

"Needle."  She whispered in recognition.

And then she understood- nobody does not have any possessions, nobody does not dream of wolves. She was _not_ nobody…But who _was_ she, then?

"You have served well, my child, but this is not your place and it is time for you to go"

"But where?" asked a woman "If this is not my place then where do I belong?"

"You know this." _But I don’t_ "Take what you require and head for Westeros, my child. The many faced god thanks you for your service."

He handed her the sword; it was too small to be of use to her but the metal felt familiar in her hand. It was once important to her but she didn’t know _why_. A woman stood in silence, the sword in her hand, until a door opened behind her. She turned to face the door but hesitated to leave.

"Valar Morghulis" said the kindly man behind her.

She turned to face him but he wass already gone "Valar Dohaeris" she whispered into the darkness.

 

A woman walked through the door into the halls of the temple, taking her time to retrieve the things she would need. She took the clothes and coins she would need and reached towards the weapons, pausing slightly before reaching for a thin water dancing blade. She had been a water dancer once,  and while she was better with daggers, water dancing brought her comfort for reasons unknown.  She placed everything into a bag and perused the variety of poisons to her side.  A woman knew she was stalling but she still didn't understand where she belonged, she still had questions to ask. She didn't want to leave yet but the waif standing silently behind her was a reminder that her time here was up.

 

A woman walked through the weirwood doors of the temple. She didn't turn back; she knew she would not return.  

 

-

 

A woman mades her way to Ragman's harbour, making sure to hide her weapons from sight. A woman knew this harbour well, she'd roamed these streets daily in a past life but she didn't remember what name she had. _Mercy, Grace, Cat_ , all her names and faces blurred in her mind- all that remained of those whom she once had been were the lessons learned. One had taught her to steal and not be stolen from, one had taught her to smile, and another, still, had taught her to keep her head down. She had worn their faces, too, but now she wore her own. As she walked through the canals, a woman took the time to look at her appearance, her _true appearance,_ for the first time in years. She had a long face, stormy grey eyes, and dark brown hair. She was a woman full grown now and, though she was small, she had developed the light curves of womanhood in her time at the house of black and white.

 

 A woman wondered around the port until she found a ship she knew to be heading to Westeros. Nearby a man was speaking to several others- he pointed towards a crate of goods, giving orders. Deducing that the man was the captain, she waited for the captain to be alone and walked up to him.  She puts on a pleasant smile becoming of a young lady.

"Excuse me? Is this ship heading towards Westeros? Is there room for a passenger?" she asked in Braavosi, her tone was carefully calculated so that inflected a sense of warmth. A woman remembered that there was a time when she would not have been able to do this, her accent had been so thick she would not have been understood but now she spoke as though she'd been born in the city. If she had ever been anyone who could not speak Braavosi just so, a woman did not remember.

"Why yes" said the captain "We set off to Maidenpool this evening- I can take you there for two iron coins"

A woman held out three; it never hurt to be liked by many.

The captain smiled but only took two coins, he introduced himself as Thironno Phorys and asked her name. A woman had to stop herself from saying ‘nobody’, she needed a name now, a temporary one until she until she found out who she was. _The woman in my dream called me Nymeria_ she remembered, perhaps that is who she was. The name didn’t sit right in mind, it felt like the many names she’d taken on as a faceless man but she decided it was good enough.

"My name is Nym" she saaid finally "Thank you for having me."

 ** _"_** Welcome aboard, Nym" said the captain as he led her onto the boat.

 

-

 

As promised, the ship set off in the evening  and Nym found herself eating with the crew. It was a simple meal of cockles from the harbour and bread and appreciated the simplicity of the situation. There was no ulterior motive; Nym wanted nothing from the crew and they needed nothing from her. She asked the crew about Westeros so she would be prepared for her landing and learned several things. She learned that a queen riding dragons had taken control of the seven kingdoms and now sat atop the iron throne. The Braavosi crewmen noted with approval that there were now fewer slave ships under this new queen and that trade here had improved much since the war.  Winter still raged on, and the war had moved North; men no longer fought other men, but the dead. Even so, the crew insisted that Westeros is safer now. Nym saw that they were trying to make her feel safe; they did not know what she was capable of, and she did not tell them. The crew and the captain were kind throughout the journey and, when they landed at Maidenpool, the captain led her to a safe inn and showed her where to buy a good horse. Nym thanked him and the crew and made sure to remember their names.

 

Nym bought a horse and paid for a room in the inn before sitting at the bar to try find out more about her so-called home. The kindly man had said that her home was in Westeros but Maidenpool did not feel like home; the town did not smell of snow and pinecones, the people spoke with the wrong accent, and the air was warm and humid. So she sat out of view listened in on the conversations of the common folk. Had she been on a mission, Nym would have listened intently to everything, taking in all the information possible as the kindly man had taught her. But she was no longer a faceless man and only one thing interested her now.

 

In the midst of all the conversation, she heard a set of voices with distinctly familiar accents, they were speaking of the lady of Winterfell and her legitimacy. A man with a greying beard noted that she looked too much like a Tully to be of the north while the other reminded him that the late Lady of Winterfell had red hair and blue eyes too. He mentioned that Eddard Stark had two daughters, the Lady Sansa had her mother's looks. Nym took the information in carefully- could this be the lady in her dream? She tried to listen in further but they had already changed topic and she stopped listening all together.

 

Nym contemplated her place being in the north, perhaps this lady Sansa would know who she is, or she would find the wolf in her dreams. Either way, the name Winterfell felt right in her min so she stood up from her seat and made her way towards her room, she shall rest tonight and tomorrow she will start her journey north. She crawled into the bed to sleep and hoped she'd dream of wolves again.

 

She woke up the next morning from a dreamless sleep.

 

Nym set of  at first light and headed north. The road she took was well travelled but beared the marks of the war. Many of the buildings scattered along the road had been burnt down or were only just being built. Occasionally, a body, stripped down to only its small clothes could be seen amongst the trees. Nym remained alert throughout, weary of any bandits along the road, but, if there were any men nearby, they did not bother her.  She rode undisturbed until sunset when she stopped by a nearby inn  to stay the night. A stocky woman stood at the bar, pouring drinks for the patrons, and Nym walked up to her to pay for a room and a meal.  Taking the key and the flask she stood up to move to a more secluded area only to be stopped by a man was a dirty yellow cloak.

"Apologies" she muttered without looking at the man "Excuse me, please" she made her move to walk away but was stopped by the man's grip on her arm.

"Just a moment" Sneered the man "You better watch your manners, wench, you're talking to a sworn knight of the Westerlands, Ser Dunsen of house Clegane"

At the name, Nym felt a sudden anger flare up inside her. She knew this man and his face- he had wronged her somehow and he deserved to die by her hands.

"Ah knight?" said Nym in fake reverence and put on a sultry smile. "I'm terribly sorry for my rudeness. If there's _anything_ I can do to make up for it." Her voiced dipped and she moved closer so that the two were almost chest to chest and glanced up at the man's face.  He smirk had grown wider and Nym knew she had him.

" I know many ways to please a man" she whispered in his ear, ignoring her disgust at the hand starting to grope her arse. She could have killed him right there and then but it was not worth the trouble of a commotion. So she leaned in closer and whispered"But I'd be even better on a bed"

 

Within moments Nym was in a locked room, alone with the man.  One of his hands were already tugging at her tunic while another continued groping her. Nym pulled the man into a kiss and slid her tongue into his mouth as a hand made its way to his cock. The man moaned in pleasure as a dagger found its way to his throat. His scream was muffled by Nym's kiss as she forced him into the ground until he finally moved no more.

"Valar Morghulis" she said wiping the blood off her blade.

 

 _Ser Gregor, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei, the Freys._ The names of the people she intended to kill came rushing back to her as though she had always known them. But among those names came another more familiar one- one that she knew was hers. _I am Arya Stark of Winterfell_ she thought to herself. _But what use is a name when it holds no meaning to me_


	2. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa finds family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to rewrite the second chapter.

Sansa stark was in the godswood again, she was kneeling in front of the heart tree, praying. The motions felt wrong to her now, after the Gods had forsaken her for all those years. But she was the Lady of Winterfell now, the Wardeness of the North, and her men held these gods close to their hearts and it was her duty to be one of them. So she prayed, she prayed that the fragile peace she had established would last; she prayed that the castle would last through the winter, that she could return her home to its former glory. But most of all she prayed for stability; Sansa was not stupid, she knew that she looked more Tully than Stark, she knew her late husbands' name still hovers over her like a brand and she knew that many men did not take her seriously, neither as a Stark, nor as a woman. So she prayed, she _demanded_ the Gods of her father for justice, that they would do something, _anything_ to help.

 

Sansa was so deep in her prayers that she didn't notice the slow padding feet of a wolf moving towards her until it nudged her arm with its nose. She flinched, one hand reaching for the dagger in her boots as she jerked her head towards the wolf and her eyes were met by familiar dark gold ones. Neither the woman nor the wolf moved.

"Nymeria?" she whispered. The wolf didn't react so she slowly lifted her hand to pet the wolf, praying that she was right. It dipped its head nudging into her hand and that's when she knew; this wolf was a direwolf, and it was her sister's. She removed her hand from the wolf's head and stood up slowly, making her way back to the keep and Nymeria followed right behind her all the way up until she reached the gates. Opening them quietly she motioned for the wolf to enter with her, breathing a sigh of relief when it followed her orders. She continued through the doors into the keep.

 

Inside she was met by the people in side who all bowed in her presence until Nymeria followed through the door. At this all the men stood with their hands on the pommel of their swords, weary. Brienne had already unsheathed her sword.

"My Lady-" she started, voice low, in warning.

Sansa waved her sword away "There's no need for the sword, Lady Brienne, the wolf is no threat to me." She placed her hand on the wolf's head as if to prove it and with a smile she declared both to Brienne and all the men at the keep. "This is Nymeria, my sister's direwolf." _And she will protect me better and any of you men._

 

If at first, her men were weary of Nymeria, they soon grew used to it and it wasn't long until it simply became an extension of Sansa; wherever she was, the wolf would follow. Sansa was glad for the wolf- it had was as fierce as her sister had been. If courtesy had been her sword, Nymeria quickly became her shield. In the occasions when men were not swayed by the power of her words; when they disregard her simply because she was a woman, Nymeria’s growl was a firm reminder of the power she truly held. Many of these men were the great lords' sons who were quick to forget that Sansa had been the one who led an army to retake Winterfell when her late husband died. They quickly forgot that she rode into the battle that won back her home, that she had seen more blood in a month than many of these lordlings had seen in their lifetimes. To them, they only saw a widowed woman, a placeholder for the future Lord of Winterfall. Sansa wished that these lordlings had died in the place of their more honourable fathers but she supposed the look of terror on their faces in the presence of her wolf was worth _something_.

 

 Sitting in the hall in front of yet another group of men, Sansa was once again reminded of how much she appreciated the wolf.

“Thank you, Lord Ryswell for your offer- I will think over it in due time. You are dismissed”

Sansa sighed inwardly when the lord remained standing a proud, indignant look on his face. “Lady Sansa, I think only for your security when I offer this. It is not safe for a Lady to rule a castle by herself. A marriage would strengthen your grip- and House Ryswell holds many resources that would be beneficial for the reconstruction of Winterfell”

Annoyance flared inside Sansa but her face remained a carefully trained mask of indifference- “Than you, my lord, you are _dismissed_.”

When the lord made to speak again, Nymeria cut him off with a snarl; the way the man trembled in his place made Sansa smile but she waved the wolf to stop as she spoke. “While I appreciate your concern, my lord, I can assure you that I have enough resources for the reconstruction of Winterfell” _I killed little finger to make sure of it_ “and, given recent events” _you bent the knee to the men who killed my brother and mother_ “I shall not be accepting any marriages soon without due thought. You are dismissed, Lord Ryswell”

There was a murmur of discontent among the younger lords when Sansa stood up to address them all. She stood tall, with all the grace and strength of a ruler and her voice cut through the noise with the ease of a sharpened blade. “I thank you all for your presence, my lords, court is dismissed” She didn’t wait for the lords to leave before she walked out of the hall with Brienne and Nymeria following close after her. She knew her blunt refusal was a dangerous move but she had played at this game long enough to know that these lordlings were no threat to her, they had too much pride, too much confidence to beat her. She’d beaten littlefinger at his own game, after all.

 

The fragile peace in the north dragged on and Sansa supposed that the Gods _had_ answered her prayers. Her family were still gone and far away but she had Nymeria now to remind her of who she was. She was Sansa Stark of Winterfell and she was home now.


End file.
